Strong Enough
by JLaLa
Summary: Katniss and Peeta are free from their attic prison. However when the past comes back, will it destroy all that they hold dear? The sequel to "Good Enough".
1. Chapter 1

Thanks for everyone's support for Good Enough.

Without your love, this sequel wouldn't be happening.

The characters of The Hunger Games Trilogy do not belong to me.

 _ **Trigger warning: mentions of child abuse, pedophilia, rape, and child abduction**_

 _Will my weakness for an hour make me suffer for a lifetime?  
Is there any way to be made whole again?_

 _-Stacie Orrico "Strong Enough"_

Strong Enough

Prim quickly walks in, her blue eyes anxiously looking around our entryway.

Peeta sets Lila down, rushing over to help my younger sister out of her thick coat, as I stand in place holding Owen in my arms. My daughter skips over to me, hugging my leg as her round cheek presses to the outside of my thigh.

"Let me hang that for you," Peeta tells her. We don't have many guests in our home—Owen and Haymitch are usually our only two visitors, so my husband tries to make up for my lack of hosting skills. "It's freezing out there, isn't it?"

"Yes," Prim says shyly, her gaze wandering around our humble home, taking in the framed photos on the cream walls and the round table in the center holding the tiny Christmas tree that Lila insisted we get. "My name is Prim, by the way." She turns to Peeta, holding out her hand. "Your sister-in-law…I guess."

Peeta looks down at her hand for a moment before his mouth widens and he instantly pulls Prim into a strong hug. "I'm Peeta, your brother, and it's great to finally meet you."

I don't understand why I can't be like Peeta, who is a constant cock-eyed optimist. I feel like I died in that attic, reborn into this bitter, surly person who is always watching and worrying—waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Prim pulls away awkwardly, her smile tight.

"Thanks…Peeta." She looks to me, her gaze apprehensive. It's like she can read me, knowing that deep down I am urging her to go back to where she came from so I can bury the past under the remnants of the old Victorian that was our sanctuary and our prison. "You have a really nice home."

"Thanks," I find myself replying in a strained voice. Looking down at Lila, I feel my whole body relax in our daughter's sweet, innocent stare. "Show your Aunt Prim the living room, Lila. Daddy and I will come out after we can get something for everyone to drink and snack on."

Lila nods solemnly before looking to Prim. She walks slowly over, her hand out in offering to my sister.

"Aunt Pim?"

Prim takes Lila's hand gently, giving her a bright smile. "Yes, that's me. Lila, right?"

Our daughter nods, pulling her Aunt towards the direction of our living room, littered with tinsel from our freshly dressed tree.

"Lila Grace Mellark!" She bounces in her movements, an excited, open smile on her pink lips. "Momma and Daddy named me after Uncle Owen's mommy, too!"

Prim looks back at us, offering a friendly nod, before Lila drags her away.

I finally let out the breath that I've been holding in.

Peeta rounds my body, pulling me close from behind so that I can rest back against his chest. Every other day, my husband rescues me from that deep, dark place that I can't seem to climb out of on my own. Though I am often afraid that, in time, even he won't be able to save me.

"You're scared." His lips find their way to my temple and my body hums in delight. "She's just a girl."

Slowly I turn to him, feeling the tremble of my lips, as my arms cradle our sleeping son against my pounding heart.

"And, an attic is just an attic, Peeta," I respond in quiet bitterness, not bothering to wipe away my tears. Let Peeta see my fear because deep down I know he holds the same doubts and worries. "Prim is just the beginning."

Reaching forward, Peeta pulls me close, our son nestled safely between us.

"We're going to be okay," he whispers tenderly. "You…me…Lila…Owen—we're in this together."

I pull away just enough to look into those blue eyes that were my salvation in our little attic home.

"Together?"

Peeta kisses me, his mouth coaxing me into that languid state of bliss, and reminding me just how we got our two children.

He pulls away, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and gives me that assuring smile that makes me feel like we can conquer anything—we have before.

"Always."

* * *

"How long have you been living here?" Prim asks as we sit across from one another on the worn couch of our living room. She holds Owen in one arm while holding her mug of hot chocolate in her opposite hand.

"Since a little before Lila was born," I reply, my eyes trained cautiously on her.

On the opposite side of the living room, Lila and Peeta rummage through the old Christmas records that we found in a local thrift shop during our morning walk. Our daughter is planning to perform in the Christmas pageant at her Pre-K school but has yet to find the perfect song. Fortunately, Owen was a music major so Lila plans to present her top three choices to her Uncle and her Godfather, Haymitch, when they arrive.

"Katniss?" I snap out of my reverie to see Prim looking at me curiously. "Can you tell me what happened? I mean, not all of it…you probably don't remember it all…it's just that—Mom—she hasn't been the same since you disappeared."

"I haven't been the same since that day," I snap, my anger flaring. "And for your information, I remember all of it—every horrible thing that was done to me."

"What?" Prim's eyes fill with tears. She looks quickly to my husband and daughter before meeting my eyes once more. "I don't understand—"

"Now is not the time," I say hurriedly. Prim sniffles and I feel a tinge of regret over my behavior. Peeta is right; she is only a girl who wants to know the sister that was taken away from her. Quickly, I move closer to her. "Listen, I don't mean to be so callous and I promise I will tell you." My gaze goes to Owen whose eyes are opening, revealing those deep, thoughtful greys to me and Prim. "Just wait until the children are in bed. It is a long story that Peeta and I hate to talk about."

Prim nods after a moment. "Okay." Owen shuffles in her arms and she coos at him. My sister gives me a warm smile. "You have a beautiful family, Katniss."

I find myself smiling back. "I love them with all my heart and I'll do anything to protect them."

"I know," she replies.

The doorbell rings and Lila squeals running towards the entryway.

"Lila, wait!" Peeta scrambles up before our daughter can open the door, winking at me before rushing to the entryway. I shake my head in exasperation; we have been trying to instill that Lila needs to be careful when it comes to strangers. Like Peeta, she can be overly trusting. Our daughter still believes that there are no bad people in the world. We know better. "Do not open the door—"

"Uncle Owen!"

"We're really trying to teach her to be a little more cautious," I tell Prim. "Though I do love that fire about her."

"She gets that from you," my sister replies. "I was young, but I remember that you always had a spark about you."

We grin at one another and I begin to feel that bit of hope that maybe we can find our way to one another in the end.

"Look what Lila found!" Peeta calls out as he enters the living room. "A watered down version of myself!" My husband walks to my side, putting an arm around my shoulders. "Can we keep him?"

"Very funny, Peeta." Owen walks into the living room in his navy bomber jacket and Lila in his arms. "Don't you mean the much taller, charismatic version of yourself—" He stops halfway when he spies Prim next to me, his eyes widening at my pretty, golden sister. Slowly, Owen places Lila back on the floor. "I didn't know you were having company over."

He quickly removes the black beanie off his head, revealing an ashen hue of Peeta's golden locks. I turn to Prim seeing her cheeks a bright pink, almost similar to the color of her lips.

"Owen, this is Prim, my younger sister," I begin as he leans over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. Then I take my son from Prim's stilled arms and look to her. "Prim, this is Owen—our friend and Owen's namesake, of course."

They stare at one another, enchantment in their eyes, and I look to Peeta, who gives me a dramatic eye roll. I elbow him, a laugh threatening to escape my lips. This is just like those old movies we used to watch on Channel 4—the ones where the sappy violins play as the couple first sets eyes on one another.

Owen holds his hand out. "Owen Mellark, it's nice to meet you."

She looks between Peeta and Owen curiously before shaking his hand. "You're not related?"

"No, I chose the last name Mellark," Peeta explains to Prim. "Owen is an actual Mellark."

"Well, you two look alike," Prim remarks. "More than Katniss and I do." She looks to Owen, a brightness in her pretty blues. "Primrose Everdeen or just Prim."

I stiffen against Peeta.

 _Everdeen_.

This is the first time that I've heard my real last name.

"Uncle Owen!" Lila stomps her foot, unhappy to be left out of the conversation. "Help me pick my song!" Then she looks to Prim. "Aunt Pim, you too—since Uncle Owen won't stop making Daddy-Mommy eyes at you!"

"What are 'Daddy-Mommy eyes'?" Prim asks as our daughter takes her hand.

"It's how Mommy and Daddy look at one another before making kisses," Lila explains as if everyone should know. "Then they hug each other for a long time and that's how we got Baby Owen."

Owen examines Peeta and me, laughter in his eyes, before taking Lila's free hand. "Tell us more about these 'Daddy-Mommy eyes'!"

"Keep it clean," Peeta warns our friend.

"Of course," Owen replies easily before letting Lila lead him and Prim away to where her music choices are stacked.

Peeta turns, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my neck, and I let out a thick gasp at the motion, feeling that unbearable heat of his knowing touch. Even now, he knows every nuance of my body, both of us having took the time to explore what made one another feel good—whenever we had the freedom.

We had very little chances to be free, but when we did, we took advantage.

"My last name was Everdeen," I whisper to him, trying to keep my tears at bay.

Peeta looks to me sadly, his hand busily going to adjust Owen's bundling. In all the hub-bub, our son has fallen back asleep, his easy countenance inherited from his father.

"You're technically still an Everdeen," he responds in a quiet, pained voice.

"No."

My free hand goes to the nape of his neck and I draw him close to press a deep kiss to his rough mouth, tasting the remnants of hot chocolate.

I want him to feel every inch of the love I hold for him. When we were just a boy and a girl in an attic, we were taught that we were nothing but brother and sister; that we were only meant to love one another in only one way.

I love Peeta in every which way possible.

"I am Katniss Mellark," I say as we draw apart, our lips still dancing off one another and so close that we are connected by strings of saliva from our full kiss. "I am yours—always."

"Good." Peeta grins against me. "I intend to show you just how happy I am that you're Katniss Mellark…later."

"Look! Mommy-Daddy eyes!" We turn to see Lila pointing at us with Prim and Owen chuckling behind her. "Now I'll get another baby…I hope it's a little sister." Lila looks to Prim. "She'll have pretty hair like yours."

A booming voice suddenly sounds from the doorway, "I think that your Mommy and Daddy are going to have to stare at one another much longer to get your baby sister!"

"Uncle Haymitch!"

We find Haymitch, Lila's godfather and Peeta's former boss, stepping into our living room. He gives us a smile as he scoops Lila up and she wraps her arms around his thick neck.

"You left your door unlocked," Haymitch tells us. He hands Peeta a bottle of wine and then gives me a kiss on the cheek. His eyes go to Owen and Prim who are cleaning up Lila's records while chatting. "You letting strays in?"

"That is Prim…my sister." Haymitch turns to me in shocked curiosity. "It's a long story."

"It's why I brought the wine," he responds before blowing a raspberry on Lila's cheek. She lets out a giggle. "Want to show me your performance song? You can also introduce me to your Aunt."

Lila nods in agreement and the two walk off to join my sister and Owen.

"Does this mean we're telling Haymitch and Owen as well?" Peeta asks.

"It seems inevitable," I reply just as our son begins to stir in his sleep.

Peeta snorts dryly. "Haymitch should've brought more wine."

* * *

"God bless Mommy, Daddy, and Baby Owen." Lila scrunches her eyes shut, her palms folded. "And, God bless Uncle Owen…and Uncle Haymitch…and Aunt Pim." She pressed her hands together. "And, please give me a baby sister for Christmas."

"That's a lot to put on God," I tell our daughter with a smile.

Lila stares up at me from her white canopy bed, her blue eyes full of childish wisdom.

"If God can make the world in seven days, then he can make my sister for me in a blink."

I press a kiss to her forehead. "Then keep blinking. I love you, Lila."

She yawns, her blinks becoming sleepy flutters. "I love you, Mommy."

Standing up, I turn on the night light by the door before switching her lamp off. Quietly, I walk out of the room and step out into the hallway just as Peeta closes Owen's nursery door.

"Two rounds of 'Twinkle, Twinkle' and he was out," Peeta informs me.

"Lila is praying for a little sister," I report.

We meet in the middle and Peeta wraps his arms around my waist. "I don't think she sees the benefit of having a little brother around yet." I smile, resting my chin on his chest and gazing up at him. "I wouldn't mind trying for that little girl, though."

"We do make cute kids," I muse, a smile growing on my tired lips.

Heading down the hallway, Peeta wraps an arm around my waist. "They're all waiting down there."

I can hear the strain in his voice. Days like this are difficult because as bad as it was for me in Cray's attic, it was worse for Peeta. He spent a year alone being abused in more ways than I could even count. I only know this because many of our past nights have been interrupted by nightmares that leave him sobbing and unable to speak.

"Listen—we don't have to talk about you. Prim came to hear about what happened to me but she doesn't need to know that you were in that attic." I put my hands to his shoulders to calm him. "We'll make something up, like we met after I got out—"

"No. I suffered too," he replies in a toneless voice. "And, I can't have you do this alone."

I nod, reaching to hold him, and pressing my cheek to his chest to feel his beating heart. We are one, an extension of each other. All the pain and joy that Peeta has felt, I have too and vice-versa. When he dreams of Cray—of the sound of his belt hitting Peeta's young flesh—I swear I can feel the burning pain along my own skin.

"You're right. It is _our_ story," I say against him. "The horrible, wonderful circumstance that brought us together."

I don't even realize that I'm crying until Peeta cups my face, brushing my tears from my cheeks.

"We're here—alive and happy," he assures me. "That's all we can ask for."

I give him a smile though my insides churn with anxiety. We have been so lucky but I worry that in the blink of an eye, it can all be taken away. I'm afraid that Haymitch and Owen will look at us differently. That Prim will retreat just as quickly as she came into my life. That my family will be exposed to the harsh reality of Peeta's and my past.

"You're right." I take his hand and we both take a deep breath before descending the stairs together. "I just don't want anything to change."

"It's going to," Peeta replies, squeezing my hand. "But all change doesn't have to be bad."

"That is what I love about you," I say as we reach the doorway of the living room. Prim and Owen sit in the loveseat with Haymitch in our armchair; the three talking amiably and not realizing that we are going to reveal to them the nightmare that was Peeta and my early life. "You have a great capacity for hope."

"It's only because you're with me," my husband says. "Without you, I don't think I would have survived. You saved me."

I give him a gentle kiss, not caring that there are three people waiting in anticipation for what we have to say.

"We saved each other."

* * *

"So we know that you're probably wondering about Prim's sudden appearance," I begin, my hand entwined with Peeta's as we sit on the couch. I look to Haymitch. "Seeing that you helped us get our identities." I then look to Owen. "And, you know that Peeta's last name is not really Mellark."

"I've always been curious, Katniss," Haymitch responds, his grey eyes laced with worry. "But, I know not to pry. When I first met you two, you were these skinny little things with large, haunted eyes. You both looked like you had never seen the light of day."

"We didn't," Peeta suddenly says. "For Katniss, it was nine years and for me, it was ten years until we breathed our first bit of fresh air."

Owen adjusts himself in his seat. "What do you mean?"

I close my eyes, swallowing harshly, and feeling Peeta's hand in mine.

"I was seven when Cray took me." My memory goes back to that warm day—my last day of freedom. "I remember him taking my hand in that crowded store." I open my eyes, letting the tears fall. "I remember watching my little sister and my mother getting smaller as we walked away and he took me to his car."

"I was seven," Peeta begins, his tone empty. "I was riding my bike and Cray told me that he was a friend of my parents—that he was supposed to take me home." He looks down in pained shame. "He didn't take me home."

"We met in the attic of an old Victorian." I can still vividly imagine the way that dark attic looked. "There were many stairs and then Cray opened a door. He pushed me inside and in front of me was a boy—" I turn to my husband, his head is bowed and I reach to lift his chin up. "—with brilliant blue eyes. He looked so scared."

"I was scared for you," Peeta says quietly. "What he did to me was horrible, but you were so small and innocent. You looked so pure in your pink dress, stained with ice cream. Even then, I wanted to protect you."

"You were kidnapped," Prim states in a choked voice. "Oh God…" Her hand goes to her mouth. "I couldn't remember anything. Mom and Dad…they went through every bit of surveillance footage…and I couldn't form the words or the memory of the man who took you!"

"You were three," I tell her simply. "No one would expect you to have a photographic memory. For a long time, I couldn't remember your name…my last name…neither does Peeta."

"So you were in this attic," Owen says slowly. "Why?"

"Because Cray told us we weren't good enough to leave," Peeta responds. "Every day, we were made to obey his rules—to prove that we were good enough to leave and, if we weren't good, we were punished."

"Thirteen lashes on Peeta's back when Cray caught us asleep together in Peeta's bed." I shiver remembering the whip cracks against Peeta's back, the blood marring his smooth skin. "I was forced to count each lash out loud until he stopped and told us that we wouldn't eat that day."

"Holy fuck," Haymitch breathes in disgust at our recount. "Did you know where you were?"

"We were in a suburb," I say. "There was a small round window that we could see out of and we often saw people walking by or children playing. We would see Cray with the women he brought home—not one of them even remotely aware of the boy and the girl hidden away in his attic."

"We did our best to behave," Peeta supplies. "We did our assigned chores, we remained pious in front of him, and we never fought back when he brought one of us to his room for the night." His eyes closed and he shook his head. "That first night that he took Katniss, I waited and prayed that she wouldn't fight back. I was afraid how he would punish her and afraid that I would be alone again."

"Soon enough, we learned to obey…ignore what he was doing to me and to Peeta." I look around at the three, seeing their horrified expressions at my words. "I would count how many times that Cray moved against or inside me before he was done…ten was usually enough for him."

"I feel sick…" Owen puts a hand to his stomach before looking to Peeta. "And, you—he was the same way?"

"Rougher," is all Peeta can say.

"Nine years," I continue. "Nine years alone and between that…somehow, Peeta and I had fallen in love…we promised that we'd leave…get married…start a family. On Peeta's seventeenth birthday, we made it happen."

"How?" Prim dared to ask.

I stand up, feeling the memory of that night rising up from my stomach.

"We had a plan." I begin to pace, afraid that if I stop, that I won't go on. "I got a copy of the key…Peeta carved it from birch…we didn't eat the cake laced with sleep sedatives…I lined our bags with cash…I was supposed to use the small carving knife to scare Cray…but then I saw what he was doing to Peeta—"

"Stop it, Katniss…" I can hear the panic in Peeta's voice. "Stop talking!"

"No…you were in pain!" I whip around at him, not caring that every breath is coming in loud, shuddering gasps. "I felt every pain that you did and you were the same…every hit…every touch…every rough intrusion—we both felt it! I had to protect you!"

I let out a wail, my arms falling to my sides.

"There was so much blood…on the walls…the sheets…on me…" I meet Peeta's wet eyes. "I'd do it again, Peeta! I'd do it again because I promised you our freedom."

My husband presses his forehead to mine.

"Cray was still alive, Katniss. I was the one who slit his throat."

"I messed up the plan," I sob. "I was the reason that we had to burn the place to the ground!"

"The old Victorian in Victors' Village," Haymitch suddenly says in a hollow voice. "I remember reading about that in the paper. The man was apparently asleep, passed out drunk in his bed, and slept through the whole thing."

I look to Haymitch, wiping my eyes. "He was dead long before that—along with any evidence that two children lived in his attic."

"We watched that place burn from behind a tree in his backyard," Peeta finishes. "Then we ran as far as the money we stole from him could take us."

"How did you get the money?" Owen asks, his eyes wide.

"After every…visit…I would look for spare change," I say. "Sometimes, I'd take a dollar or two. I sewed extra pockets in my leggings and in Peeta's sweats so we could gather anything we could. He trusted us after a few years and he wouldn't bat an eye if I went to the bathroom to wash up…after."

"Did you think about looking for your families?" Prim looks to me, tear tracks on her porcelain face. Her nose is as pink as her lips and she sniffles, not bothering with propriety as she wipes her nose on her sleeve.

"I don't remember my family," Peeta tells her helplessly. "We were able to gather from the bit of memory that I had that my family owned a mom-and-pop bakery." He turns to Owen. "I think that's why I was so interested in working for your family—why I took your name. In some way, I identified the Mellark name with good things. On our birthdays, Cray would get us cakes from your bakery and our first piece of non-medicated cake was from the Mellark bakery."

"It was the same cake we ate when I decided to make my last name Mellark as well," I add, squeezing Peeta's hand. We both sit back down, exhausted by our account of that frozen part of our lives. "We are as much married as any couple can possibly be—we're bonded beyond any need for a piece of paper."

I look to Prim.

"We couldn't come back from what had happened," I explain. "The children that our families remembered were dead. We weren't the same, we were reborn as shadows of those children. I wasn't the same girl that our mother likely remembers."

"We are happy with our life now," Peeta says in a full voice. "Because we earned it. Because all along…we were good enough."

* * *

I sleep fitfully.

Images of the groping hands and harsh blows of a belt invade my terrorized mind. I shoot up in our bed, breathing harshly, feeling the cold sweat running down my back.

Our bedroom is dark and I reach for Peeta—

His side is empty, cold even.

Quickly, I stand up and put my robe on before leaving the room to search for my husband.

We went to bed after shooing our petrified guests away. Prim was shaking and a pale-faced Owen offered to drive her home. Haymitch, usually so stoic, seemed to sag underneath the weight of our story. He gathered Peeta and me into his long arms, silent as he embraced us and leaving hastily before the tears took over.

I check on Owen and Lila, both sleeping peacefully, and pray that they always have such peaceful nights.

Slowly, I descend the stairs and enter the living room.

Everything looks in place, decorated cheerily by Lila, and looking completely normal.

Except for the man lying with his head under the multi-colored lit Christmas tree.

I go to Peeta, kneeling before lying on my back and joining him so that we can look up at the fir tree, thick with bright lights that shine down on us.

My husband turns to me wordlessly, his hand reaching for mine before we go back to staring up at the prism of color. Peeta looks so wonderfully beautiful, the lights against his ivory complexion and filling those blues with a rainbow of color.

In this shine, I see the boy that I first met, so sweet and pure.

I take a deep breath smelling the fresh pine and letting it fill me with the warmth of yuletide and hope.

When I turn to Peeta again, I see the track of tears running down his temple.

"Do you think that my parents looked for me?" he asks in a tight whisper.

"Of course," I reply. "You don't even know where you're from. For all you know, your family is clear across the country. Your mother could be lighting a candle for you whenever your birthday comes around. Your dad probably waits on the porch of your house every day to see if you'll come peddling back home on your bike."

I turn, pushing up slightly so I can look down at him, reaching to cup his damp cheek in my palm.

"Who couldn't love you, Peeta?" I say. "I know I couldn't help it even if I tried. I don't think it's in me to not to love you." He smiles through the wetness of his Christmas-lit eyes, his own hand reaching to caress my cheek. "I don't doubt one bit that they didn't spend every day looking for their Peeta."

"Even if they find me, I won't be anyone else's Peeta—just yours." His fingers weave through my thick hair and he gently beckons me to lay back down. This time I am closer, our arms pressed together and I warm feeling him so near. Peeta moves so that he looks down at me. "Will you be mine—just mine, Katniss?"

I nod, breathless as the haziness of his eyes. "Yes, just yours."

His fingers dance along the edge of my pajama top before undoing the top two buttons. I feel the anticipation draw up, aching to feel his fingers along my heated skin. Peeta takes his time, drawing the opening back, and staring down at the full cleavage that breastfeeding our son has afforded me.

"You're so beautiful," he tells me, the electricity in his words causing my body to seize up and my nipples to ache in arousal. "Can I touch you? Will you allow it?"

"Yes…please." I can hear the hunger in my voice. "I'll allow it."

Peeta leans down, his open mouth pressing to my breastbone and my center twists, my insides clenching and eager to feel him all around me—inside and out of me. He moves his lips, one hand reaching to a heavy breast, palming it gently. His gaze is reverent as he stares down at puckered skin, sensitive to his light touch.

It feels like hours before his lips find my nipple and the moan that escapes my mouth is honeyed with desperation. Peeta circles the bud with the tip of his tongue before flicking it and earning a deep cry from my core.

Memories of the first time that he did this to me swim in my mind; that discovery of something as wonderful as pleasure from someone you love, someone you want, and who wants you back. Even then I knew that the passion we shared was like no other.

I draw myself away before taking his hand and pulling him out from under the tree, walking us back towards our couch. Peeta lets go of my grasp to hastily remove the t-shirt he wears just as I pivot him to his seat.

He stares up at me, moving his bottoms off, and revealing himself, hard and ready for me.

I'm not wearing bottoms so after I moved my panties off, I quickly straddle his strong thighs, impaling myself on his eager cock.

I breathed into our joining. "Oh God…"

Peeta draws me closer, arms around my waist and his hands on my full bottom, palm to cheek.

Our mouths meet in a kiss as we move together in heady, fervent lovemaking. Even now, we still remember the forbiddance of touching one another, of not being allowed to see the other in the way we desired—so we made up for it tenfold when we escaped Cray.

We made love every day that first year out. I think we were worried that somehow we'd be discovered, taken from one another before we even had the chance to understand the wonderment that was us.

Soon, I feel the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm; the desperate thrusting of his hips, the deepening of his eyes at the thought of filling me as I tense around him.

However I come first, wanting him to feel every clench as I draw him deeper into my center.

"Katniss!" Thick wetness pulses my insides and I feel him softening inside me.

Peeta holds me tightly…desperately.

My lips go to his bare shoulder as he gulps for air; a small sob suddenly escapes him and I hold him close, letting him rest his head on my chest.

I understand; he is scared.

Nine years have passed since we escaped out are attic home.

How could something not happen to us?

"I love you," he whispers hoarsely.

I kiss the top of his head. "I know."

There is a sudden, insistent knock on our door.

Our eyes meet in panic as we throw our clothes back on; the knocking continuous. I tighten my robe around myself, feeling apprehensive as Peeta takes the lead. We walk towards the door and Peeta grabs a bat that Owen left recently after a game he played nearby—his team made it to the playoffs.

Holding his index finger to his lips, Peeta looks to me, poised and ready. "Answer the door."

I nod and unlock the door, peeking out before letting out a breath of relief.

It's Owen.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as I widen the door. "It's nearly two in the morning!"

Peeta approaches and I see Owen start—as if this is the first time seeing his friend and co-worker.

"What's going on?" Peeta asks.

"Do you remember what your bicycle looked like?" Owen says to him in a rushed voice.

"Kind of…it was a sea foam green Schwinn," my husband recalls slowly. "I think I even wrote my initials on the seat of it…though I can't remember what they were."

Owen goes pale and I grip Peeta's hand before meeting our friend's gaze. "Why?"

He steps away from the door and when Owen returns, he is wheeling a bike.

Sea Foam green…a Schwinn…then he turns it to reveal the side of the seat.

 _PM_. Peeta Mellark.

"Peeta." Owen looks torn, his hand running nervously through his hair—a trait that I realize my husband shares. "I found this in the garage of my childhood home." He lets out a choked breath. "I think you're my older brother."

* * *

This was intended to be a one-shot then turned into two…and now possibly three. There's just a lot of information.

Also, there's a whole lot of things that we need to cover like the reunions for Katniss and Peeta, the eventual kidnapping story unfolding and Cray's demise.

Next, Part Two—Owen's story and Mrs. Everdeen.

Feedback is love.

Until then, JLaLa


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all your feedback! You're all awesome!

Disclaimer in the first part.

 _ **Trigger warning: mentions of child abuse, pedophilia, rape, and child abduction**_

" _If I'm healed, renewed, and find forgiveness, find the strength I've never had…  
Will my scars forever ruin all God's plans?"_

 _-Stacie Orrico "Strong Enough"_

Strong Enough

 _Part Two_

"My family is not very close," Owen starts, his blue eyes weary. "I think at one point it was different, but that was before I was even born."

When Peeta and I finally managed to calm our friend down, my husband ushered him into the kitchen while I rushed upstairs to throw on some pants and check on the children.

Now we all sit in the kitchen, sleep clearly not happening, and I place a cup of coffee in front of Owen, then one in front of Peeta before joining them at the table.

"I'll start with my brothers. Sawyer is the eldest and works at our Headquarters. He's Chief of Finance and the most like my Dad. We don't talk a lot. He patronizes me and prefers to not hear what I have to say when it comes to the bakeries."

"He sounds…business-oriented," Peeta offers, his hand resting on top of mine.

Owen shakes his head, a dry laugh escaping his lips.

"Sawyer is an asshole. I'm not the first person to say it and I won't be the last."

"And your other brother?" I ask, trying to be hopeful for Peeta's sake. If Owen is right about Peeta, then he's not selling the Mellarks very well.

"Rye is…wayward," Owen says hesitantly. "Always takes Sawyer's side and lead. He's a nice guy, but there's always been something a little off about him. Maybe at one time, he wasn't such a doormat." Our friend takes a small sip from his cup. "Dad has always been distant. Every memory I have of him was him going on one trip or another for the sake of the Mellark Bakery. Our small mom-and-pop bakery was going corporate during my childhood."

Peeta swallows. "And, Grace?"

When I was pregnant with Lila, Grace had been our other choice of a name for our little girl. However, upon arrival, she looked like a Lila and so we made our second name choice her middle name.

It was only when Peeta was hired at the Mellark Bakery did we hear from Owen that our daughter's middle name was the same as the Mellark matriarch.

Back then, we laughed at the coincidence of it all—as if Peeta working for the Mellark Bakery was meant to be.

Now, it seems it wasn't a joke after all.

Owen's eyes go cloudy. "Of course as you remember, she died a little after I was born. From what some of our older customers say though, she was a real genteel lady." He shakes his head before bowing it. "We never talk about Mom. I don't think my father's forgiven me for having a hand in her death."

"That can't be the case," I offer. Both of the men in front of me look devastated. "Tell me, Owen—why do you think that Peeta is your brother?"

"As you can tell, Sawyer and I don't get along," Owen tells us, his eyes hard. "When we were kids, he baited me and spent a lot of time making me feel like I wasn't wanted in our family. One day, I couldn't take it anymore and I hit him hard. I remember the look on his face—like he couldn't believe that I would actually draw blood. Then he said, 'You're only here because we lost _him_.'"

I sit back, looking to Peeta who remains silent. "Him?"

"I didn't understand and Sawyer was gone before I could ask," he continues. "Rye, of course, was too scared to say anything. I also remember how strictly we were watched. We weren't allowed to play with the other kids around the neighborhood, or join any teams…or even ride bicycles."

Owen grips his coffee cup, taking another long sip.

"So I was always curious as to why there was a bicycle in our garage—until you told us about that man taking you while you were riding your bike. So I dropped Prim off at her place and I went back to my place—the house my family lived in before we got too big for it—and picked it up. I just needed to know if the nagging feeling in my stomach was right."

Peeta grips my hand. "What feeling?"

"I always felt like you were the big brother I wanted," Owen tells my husband earnestly. "We look alike and even have the same mannerisms. When you first applied at the bakery, I had a feeling that you belonged with our company. Maybe it was because you belong to our family." He smiles hopefully. "Also, I always felt closer to you than either one of my brothers. I guess I'm just hoping that maybe…you're a real Mellark."

"So what do we do now?" Peeta asks quietly.

"A DNA test?" I suggest before my eyes go to Owen. "But, you can't tell your family—not until you're sure."

"And until I say so," Peeta adds. "I don't think that I'm ready to be an actual Mellark."

Owen gazes at him for a moment before finally nodding then giving me a careful smile.

"I always wanted to be part of your family," he tells us. "I don't think I've ever known a couple or a family who loves the way that you do."

I swallow the lump in my throat as Peeta puts an arm around my shoulders. Our eyes meet and my husband gives me an exhausted smile.

"Well…" I can feel the tears in my throat. "We worked for it."

* * *

"I haven't told Mom," Prim tells me as we wrap presents next to the tree. "About you."

"Why?" I ask. "You mentioned that she wasn't alright after I left."

"She and Dad fought a lot after you were taken," she says. "He blamed her for not looking out for you, being too distracted, and retreating into her own world. Then when it seemed that you weren't coming back, Dad left. I haven't seen him since I was five—and I'm not bothering to look." Prim's gaze is far-off in her thoughts. "Mom just fell into something that she couldn't get out of for a while. Eventually, she found her way back."

"Oh." My eyes go to check on baby Owen, asleep in the bassinet, next to us. I couldn't imagine ever falling apart like my mother did. Or, having Peeta leave like my father had. I mean, what would happen to Owen and Lila? However in the end, Prim should have never been neglected the way she was. "I'm sorry you went through that alone."

Prim sighs, her eyes shining, before she gives me a sad smile.

"Now is not the time for being sad. It's the holidays, you're here with me, and we can be a family again."

I feel an affectionate tug for Prim, her sweetness and optimism contagious. I want to love her. Maybe part of me already does, but I'm scared to let her see that other side of me; the side that wakes up screaming at night sometimes or fears being alone, even in the bathroom—because I'm afraid I'll blink and Cray will be there.

"We are here for you," I reply, giving her a smile. Owen lets out a wail and I pick him up. "Me…Owen…Peeta…Lila…the grown-up Owen, who picks you up when he comes to visit…" Prim blushes, suddenly interested in the rolls of wrapping paper. "You sweet on him?"

"Two brothers and two sisters together," she muses with a small grin. "Now wouldn't that be something."

I laugh before putting an arm around her and drawing her close. "Stranger things have happened."

Prim nods, her head going to my shoulder. "Would it make you feel better if I told you that I liked him?"

I snort. "Yeah, because those swoony eyes weren't enough of an indicator. Peeta and I used to watch these movies on Channel 4 and they had these mushy scenes when the couple meets and it's all slow music. That first time you two saw each other, it was exactly like that."

"I don't see you two as the sappy movie types," Prim remarks.

I feel the smile slide off my face, pressing Owen to my chest. "There wasn't much to do up there."

"I'm sorry." Prim meets my eyes and I can tell from her expression that my gaze is as broken as I feel. "I know that remembering hurts. That man—" Cray's name is rarely said in our home—for good reason. "He took your childhood away."

"The horrible thing is…he did do that, but he also gave me Peeta," I reply quietly. Looking down at Owen, I feel my heart sink. "What if Lila or Owen asks how I met their father? Or, how I knew that I had fallen in love with him? Even about our wedding?"

"Katniss…" Prim scoots a little closer. "…what matters in the end is that you found your way to one another. You and Peeta will know when it is the right time to tell your children the truth. Lila and Owen will see how truly blessed they are to be in this world. Because if something happened to either you or Peeta, they wouldn't exist. Don't lose sight of the miracle that was your survival."

With my free arm, I embrace her. "You are a wise woman, Prim."

The front door opens and closes before Peeta walks into the living room with Owen in tow. I take a breath before giving them both a tremulous smile.

Peeta and Owen have just come back from a testing facility to do a cheek swab for the DNA test. My husband was wary—almost reluctant to do it—last night.

However, neither of us could deny Owen because we love him as if he is part of the family.

It seems that his actual family cares little for him. We should've seen the signs. Owen never went home for the holidays. His birthdays were celebrated with us nor did he see his father on Father's Day, choosing to pay for brunch for Peeta, myself, and the kids this past year.

"How did it go?" I ask as I stand up with Owen in my arms.

Peeta rushes over to me, cupping my face, and pressing his mouth to mine deeply. We lose ourselves in our kiss, forgetting everything but the feeling of our lips moving along in reverence to one another.

Finally we pull apart, breathing labored, and blood boiling in hunger.

Peeta presses his forehead to mine. "It went fine. Scary, but fine." He looks to our son, caressing his cheek. "How about you?"

I look over to where Owen and Prim stand, gaping at us, and then turn to my husband once more with a smile on my face.

"Well, we've given those two a show—and maybe some inspiration," I reply with a wink.

Prim turns to Owen, a chuckle escaping her lips. "Are they always like that?"

"Yes, the Mellarks tend to take their greetings very seriously," Owen explains. "Where's my munchkin?"

"She's upstairs, probably waking from her nap," I inform him. There is a high-pitched holler. "Right on time."

"I'll get her," Prim offers before heading towards the stairs.

"I'll help," Owen says, rushing after her.

"Is that what they call asking a girl out to dinner?" Peeta questions with a grin. "'Helping'?"

Owen gives him the finger before dashing off.

"Your brother, my sister." Peeta puts an arm around me and we head to the couch. He sits down and I place Owen in his arms before sitting next to him. "We helped that happen."

He smirks. "One of their kids better be named Peeta."

"You're getting ahead of yourself," I say. "But now that we're alone, how did it really go?"

"Owen is really hopeful," Peeta tells me. There is anxiety in those blue eyes. "He told me a little bit more about his family. Sawyer is married and his wife is expecting a baby. Rye works in Marketing for the Mellark Bakery and is seeing someone though their father and Sawyer don't approve of her." He shakes his head. "I don't feel comfortable, Katniss."

"About what?"

"I don't know if I want them as part of my family." Peeta's brow is furrowed in the thought of these people invading our lives and home. "If it turns out that this is all true, I don't know if I want them in our lives."

"That's your prerogative." My head goes to his shoulder. "But, I don't want you to rule out meeting them yet. You might change your mind if the results are positive."

"When did you become the optimist?" Peeta presses a kiss into my hair. "I thought you were all sexy broodiness."

"You think I'm sexy?" I respond and he guffaws. "Maybe I've been hanging out with you too much. The optimism had to rub off."

"Can I rub a few things off on you later?" he whispers.

I turn, going on my knees on the couch, before taking his face in my hands to press my affirmation to his eager lips.

"Yes, please."

"Enough already!" We look to the doorway where Owen holds a still-sleepy Lila in his arms. Beside him, Prim is grinning from ear to ear. Something tells me that she got an invite to dinner. "There are children in the room!"

"Mommy…I want a snack," Lila mumbles before resting her head back on Owen's shoulder.

Our son lets out a wail and Peeta gently hands him off to me before heading over to Lila.

"How about I get you a snack while your Mama gives Owen his?" Peeta holds out his arms and Lila eagerly clambers onto Peeta, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Come on, big Owen. You can have a snack, too."

Owen rolls his eyes—so Peeta-like. "Gee thanks, Dad!"

The two head towards the kitchen and Prim comes into the living room carefully.

"Do you want privacy?" she asks. "Mom is a nurse so I'm kind of used to looking at things in a purely clinical way."

I shake my head and begin to unbutton my top. "No, I don't mind." Quickly, I remove the cup on my left breast and Owen instinctively latches on. It's so quick that I highly doubt Prim caught the sight of my enlarged nipple. "I remembered that Mom was a nurse awhile back."

"Oh really?" Prim sits down next to me. "When?"

"After Cray lashed Peeta," I explain. "My instinct took over and I knew to get him into our tub to clean the wounds. Then it came to me that our mother was a nurse."

I blush remembering what happened afterward—that one event turned our relationship upside down.

"What a time to remember," Prim remarks. "Katniss, do you think it will ever get easier to talk about your time in the attic?"

I muse over her question for a bit before shaking my head.

"The pain just gets duller—but it won't ever go away. In some ways, I think that it's better that it doesn't. It reminds me to have perspective and to not take my freedom for granted."

My sister nods. "Fair enough."

We lapse into silence, the only sound being Owen's enthusiastic suckling.

"Prim?"

She turns to me. "Yeah?"

"You should tell Mom about me…and if she thinks it is okay—Dad, too."

* * *

After putting Owen down in his crib, I grab the baby monitor and head out of the room.

This evening, our son had an upset stomach and needed a diaper change before I rocked him and sang my made-up version of 'Hush, Little Baby'. I don't really know the lyrics, but I'm pretty sure that it doesn't include giving your baby a monster truck or sailboat.

Closing the nursery door, I go to Lila's door and check on her. She is passed out from playing with Prim and Owen, a light snore coming from her lips as she sleeps on her stomach. I quickly close the door, lest she wake up and demand another story.

Reeking of baby poop, I head to our bedroom and close the door behind me, letting out a tired sigh.

"Katniss?"

I head to the master bathroom at Peeta's call, finding him in the tub, resting back with his arms along its edges. The tub was the one thing we wanted—a claw-foot tub deep enough to wash the day away, just as our old one did, and made for two.

I lean against the doorway of the bathroom, admiring my husband's strong chest. The steam rises from his unblemished skin, beckoning me to touch, or to follow the slow droplets that roll down his chest with my fingers.

His eyes open and Peeta gives me a small smile. "How did it go?"

"I smell like an old diaper and breast milk," I say, placing the baby monitor on the closed toilet lid. Going to our hamper, I start to unbutton my pajama top before reaching behind myself to take off my nursing bra. "Owen is eating too quickly and it's giving him an upset stomach."

"Wow."

"I know, right?" I quickly remove my bottoms, tossing them into the clothes basket. "He's a lot hungrier than Lila ever was—" I move my panties down off my hips and add them to our almost full hamper. "I swear, he is sucking the life out of my breasts."

"Katniss—turn around." I swivel to find Peeta staring at me, his blue eyes darkening at the sight of my nudeness. "Like I said…wow."

I shake my head in exasperation. "I smell like puke. I'm not feeling very wow-like at the moment."

"Then come in here and let me take care of you, Mrs. Mellark." My husband shifts back in the tub. "There's enough room for two. It's why we got this tub."

I look at him for a moment before taking the hair tie off the tip of my braid, unraveling it, and then piling my thick hair atop my head in a messy bun.

I'll never turn down time with Peeta. We have a busy family life and while we wouldn't trade it for anything, the solitude of it just being us is often missed.

"Well, if I'm not bothering you," I begin as I step into the steaming tub and slowly ease into the water. Laying back against his chest, I turn to meet his eyes and give him a smile. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Peeta retorts with a boyish smile. "You really do look lovely." His lips find their way to my neck and I let out a small gasp, feeling my body shiver in anticipation of his caress. "I always thought so. When we were kids, I tried not to look, tried not to see how your shirts seemed to get tighter around your chest or how your hips rounded. But, I was fascinated by you—already a goner."

"I remember it was your shoulders, how broad they had become and then your strong, smooth chest…and the stubble along your jaw." I turn to look at him, seeing his mouth slightly agape and the moisture of the bath clinging to the thick lashes surrounding his eyes. My index finger traces along his jawline and he starts at the motion. "Sometimes I'd stay up nights just thinking about how you'd feel in-between my thighs, your mouth kissing me down there, and wondering if _he_ would notice that another man had been there—someone I wanted."

Peeta gazes at me. "You don't know the effect you had on me…the effect you have. Some nights, I'd think about killing Cray for just looking at you wrong. Even now, if I catch another man looking at you when we're out together, the urge happens—that need to hurt, that need to let them know that we belong to one another, that you're mine and I'm yours."

He lets out a labored breath, feeling the shift of our bodies as my chest presses to his.

"Is it right, Katniss? This possessiveness? Sometimes, I think that Cray made us this way—made us believe that we had ownership of each other, because we were always trying to prove to him that we didn't belong to him."

"Maybe. We didn't have to want each other though," I reply thoughtfully. "There had to be something else that made it so." My hand reaches to his cheek as I straddle his thighs. "For me, it was your eyes." I push his hair back to reveal those wide blues. "They are the color of the sky and I see the world in them—the kind of world I want our children to have." I brush my lips against his and he lets out a content sigh. "I think I saw our babies in your eyes—their hope and joy. I saw the person I wanted to be. I loved you right away because of that first look that you gave me—that caring sweetness."

"For me, it was your smile," Peeta says, his thumb moving over my wet lips. "You smiled so rarely, but when you did, it was like the sun was shining in that attic—like the roof had clear broke off and we could just lay back and feel the sun's rays on our skin. We could feel that moment of freedom."

I feel the burn of tears along my lashes. "You saw freedom in my smile?"

Peeta flicks my chin playfully. "I won't lie and say that I didn't hope for kids with your smile." He gazes at me tenderly. "Even if I met you on the street, Katniss, I would've noticed you. Hell, I would've followed you and asked you out immediately. I would've courted you, asked your parents' permission to marry their daughter, and had a proper wedding."

"Prim and I were talking about that." I swallow the lump of tears in my throat. "What will we tell Lila and Owen when they are old enough? How do we explain how we met?"

Peeta looks torn at my question. "I suppose that it's not exactly ideal or romantic," he says slowly. "But, I don't think we should lie to them. Lila and Owen are smart kids. They'll catch on, though Lila will probably have a harder reaction…" He looks to me, pride in his eyes for our headstrong girl. "She's passionate, like her Momma."

"We should tell them the truth." My arms weave around his neck to steady myself on his lap. Peeta nods in agreement. "But, when they're old enough."

"Until then, let them believe that God led us to each other." Peeta buries his face on my bare shoulder. "Because God knows that I believe that he or she led you to me. I prayed many nights to not be alone in that cold attic."

"You'll never be alone again, sweetheart," I whisper into his ear. My hands caress the back of his bowed head. "I'm here as a witness to your life and you to mine. We got out of that prison—and we lived. We live our lives in the sunshine that we were deprived of."

When Peeta meets my eyes once more, his are thick with tears. However, there is a smile on his handsome face. I marvel at how I've seen this face change from the roundness of boyhood, to the slimmer curves of adolescence, and finally the angular lines of manhood; each mark and scar on our bodies reflecting the toughness of our interiors.

We've grown together in so many ways.

I press my mouth to one such mark—a slight scar on Peeta's cheek—given to him courtesy of the buckle of Cray's belt.

I cried more than he did when it happened.

I cried because the scar was likely to be there permanently—another mark showing Cray that he had an effect on us, exactly what he had desired.

"Katniss, do you think I can ask permission from your parents to marry you again?" Peeta suddenly says and I see the burst of color on his cheeks. "This time with our families and our children with us. So I can finally see you in a white dress—" I tilt my head at him and he guffaws. "I mean, cream dress."

"Yes…I guess it's important to me that we say those vows in front of our friends and family…in front of our children."

Peeta leans forward, kissing me, and causing the breath to escape my suddenly aching body.

Pulling away, he grins. "Should I get you an engagement ring?"

I shake my head, head swimming with desire, as I push onto my knees before slowly sinking down onto him. A ragged moan escapes his lips and I hold Peeta close against me, feeling his hands cup my bottom for leverage to deepen his thrusts.

"No…" I kiss him eagerly before meeting his eyes, a smile rising on my lips. "...give me another baby."

We are sated and pruned when we finally leave the tub.

* * *

"Do I look alright?" I ask Lila.

I kneel in front of her, presenting my outfit—a knee-length navy skirt, and clover-green cardigan. I've left my hair down, pulling it back on one side of my temple with a pearl clip that Peeta gave me for our first 'wedding' anniversary.

"You look pretty, Mommy!" my daughter responds cheerfully. She twirls in front of me, presenting her lavender dress. "How about me?"

"Just lovely!" I tell her with the same amount of enthusiasm. "Let me fix the ribbon so it's perfect and you won't have to keep fixing it."

Lila nods before turning so her back is presented to me; she sways in place, her white Mary-Janes tapping on the carpet.

"Are we really going to meet my Grandma and Grandpa?" she asks in a hushed voice.

I nod anxiously. "Yes. They're on their way with Aunt Prim and Uncle Owen."

Two days after I told Prim to tell my mother, I received a call from her saying that my parents wanted to see me. I could hear the strain on my sister's voice at the mention of 'parents'—it meant our father would be coming as well; the man who had abandoned her and my mother after it seemed that there was no hope for me.

I assured her that I would do my best to keep the situation calm, especially when it came to telling our parents where I had been all these years. Peeta and I had decided that we would tell them that we had been kidnapped and then attempt to leave it at that. We would also tell my parents that the man who kidnapped us was already dead and that we had gotten away way before it happened.

"Katniss?" I look up to see Peeta entering the living room with Owen, dressed in his cutest onesie, in his arms. "Owen's car is pulling up."

Quickly, I finish tying Lila's ribbon and stand up. My daughter takes my hand, smiling up at me and giving my trembling hand a squeeze.

"Don't worry, Mommy," she assures me. "I get nervous seeing new people, too."

Peeta grins at Lila as he joins us. "Should we greet them on the porch?"

"Of course." I give him an uncertain nod. "Let's go."

Peeta gives me a quick kiss. "We'll be fine."

Together we go the entryway, Peeta opening the door so Lila and I can step onto the porch first. Prim and Owen get out of the car. Our friend gives us a jaunty wave and Prim looks to me with a smile and tightness in her eyes.

Then, there are my parents.

My mother looks like a worn version of Prim, though still quite beautiful and elegant, even in her nervous movements. My father is tall and I see that my olive skin and dark hair come from him.

I swallow harshly, taking Peeta's hand when they spot me on the front porch.

Owen and Prim let them approach first. My parents make a beautiful couple and part of me hurts to know that I caused the demise of their relationship.

I look to Peeta and he nods his head in their direction. Stepping down the porch steps, I go to them and am surprised when Lila's hand remains in mine. I turn to her and she nods—just like Peeta—for us to continue our trek to my parents.

Stopping in front of my parents, I look them over. Nothing seems familiar, nothing jogs my memory of them, but I can clearly see things that I have inherited from the two—my mother's eye shape and bone structure…my dad's long face and pointed chin.

"Katniss?" my mom says in a shaky voice.

"Yes, Momma—it's me," I reply, surprised at the quiver in my response.

Her hand reaches for my face and tears fill her pretty blues. I feel her thumb move over my chin, over the slight ridge where a small mark rests.

"You ran into a table when you were four and that scar has been there ever since," my father informs me with a thick timbre.

I look to see tears running down his exhausted face.

"You never wore a beard," I find myself saying, gaping at the thick fuzz on his jaw.

My father shakes his head, letting out a knotted laugh. "No, I didn't."

The dam breaks between us and they are pulling me into their arms, kissing me and thanking God that I'm alive. The whole time, I cling to Lila's hand and hold her close, protecting her from the force of their tears. My daughter doesn't seem to mind, clinging to me as well.

After we pull apart, I wipe my eyes and see that Prim is weeping against Owen, his arm around her protectively.

I place my hands on Lila's shoulders, moving her in front of me. "This is Lila, your granddaughter." Then I turn as Peeta joins us and look to my son. "And, this is Owen, your grandson and Peeta, my husband."

My parents look at me for a moment in shock. I think that it's a bit of a surprise to see me with a husband and children.

The last time they saw me, I wasn't even close to puberty.

Peeta approaches, holding his hand out to my father. "It's wonderful to finally meet you, sir."

My dad looks at his hand before taking it and pulling Peeta into a gentle embrace so they won't crush Owen.

"So you are the man who won our Katniss' heart," my father says gruffly, a smile on his weathered lips. "Sam Everdeen, your father-in-law." He looks to my son. "He looks like a strong boy."

Peeta carefully places Owen in my Dad's arms. "He is smart as well." Owen's eyes open revealing his grey eyes, identical to my father's. "And observant, too."

Then my husband goes to my mother and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "It's great to have you here."

My mother gives him a gentle smile. "Lila Everdeen—but you _must_ call me Mom." Peeta nods in agreement. "Thank you for taking care of our girl." Lila goes to Peeta, wrapping her arms around his leg and Mom kneels in front of her. "And, you are Lila as well, right?" Lila nods shyly. "Lila, I am your grandmother."

"You don't look like a grandmother," our daughter replies in confusion. "You look too young."

"Thank you, darling." My mother draws her into her arms. "But I am your grandmother, nonetheless."

Lila shrugs. "Okay. Come on, Grandma and Grandpa. I want to show you our Christmas tree."

She takes my mother's hand and then my father's free one, since he holds Owen in his opposite arm, before pulling them towards the front door of the house.

Peeta puts his arm around me and chuckles. "Lila makes life a whole lot easier."

"You can say that again," I tell him. "We should go in there before she asks for a pony or something."

Prim joins us, chuckling wetly. "They just might give it to her."

"Damn. That was my present idea," Owen says to us.

My eyes go to the open front door and I take a deep breath. "Should we go in?"

After pressing a kiss to my temple, Peeta nods in agreement as do Prim and Owen.

Together, we enter the house.

* * *

Whew. I know it seems a little calm right now, but they haven't told the Everdeens their story yet and we haven't met the Mellarks. Plus, Prim has some pent up anger toward Mr. Everdeen.

This last part will likely be the longest because we are getting through a lot. I actually didn't plan to leave it off here—but it seemed appropriate.

The Mellarks are a tricky bunch—the women of the Mellark family are characters from the book. Guess if you can, but I'm sure you might know.

Also, the secret of their story can't last for long, especially with Peeta being the lost heir to the Mellark fortune and all…that's sure to make some folks angry.

Feedback is love that nourishes my soul.

Also, thank you if you sent me well wishes about my medical updates. You're the greatest.

Next, the final part: Katniss and Peeta tell the Everdeens their story and learn something not so good, the Mellarks meet Peeta, and the media gets involved.

Until then, JLaLa


	3. Chapter 3

The final part…thank you for sticking around. Please check out the notes in regards to the possible final story of this universe.

The characters of The Hunger Games Trilogy do not belong to me.

" _He took my life into his hands and it turned it all around  
In my most desperate circumstance  
It's there I've finally found_

 _That you are strong enough_  
 _That you are pure enough…_

 _Oh, thank you for my chance to start again…"_

 _-Stacie Orrico "Strong Enough"_

Strong Enough

 _Part Three_

"No…no…no! Please—stay away from me!"

I awaken to Peeta's anguished cries, his head lolling side to side, and his forehead glistening with sweat. The bed sheets around his legs are twisted and tangled as he fights his nightmare.

Quickly, I put my hands to his face.

"Peeta, wake up! Peeta!" He flails his arms and I just barely miss his fist swinging at me. "Peeta! It's not real! You're dreaming!"

His eyes suddenly shoot open, confusion in his irises. He looks around before focusing on me, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His hands wrap tightly around my wrists as he looks up at me. I let him grip them until he calms down.

"Katniss…" Peeta croaks out before he bursts into tears. "I remember…I think I remember Owen."

My hand goes to my husband's drenched back. "What do you mean?"

"I was 7," he explains in-between heaving. "That would make Owen around 4 or 5 when I disappeared. I can get why he wouldn't remember me, but I had doubts about why I couldn't remember him."

"We were conditioned to forget," I reason. "I couldn't remember Prim and I just found out my last name. So it's not that surprising that you wouldn't remember Owen."

"My dream…before it went bad…was of me and him." Peeta looks to me, tears dragging down his face. "I was pushing Owen on a swing and I could hear his laughing…see his little red sneakers. He liked graham crackers—just like Lila does."

"Oh sweetheart, come here." I pull him close and Peeta lays his head on my chest. "Somehow I knew that these reunions would trigger things."

He presses a kiss to my collarbone. "But it seems like your family reunion was successful."

"It was…to an extent," I say as my fingers weave through his hair to massage his scalp. "Yes, I had to stop Prim from stabbing my father with a fork and my mother is already thinking of moving obscenely close by—but sure, it was successful."

My parents are kind people. I can, however, see the strain in their relationship. My father lives about an hour from our home and is an engineer. He lives in a condo on his own and from what I can gather is not in a relationship. Throughout dinner, he attempted to engage my mother in some sort of conversation and is obviously still enamored with her.

However, she was only focused on me.

My mother wanted to know everything about my life; all my favorite foods (Peeta's cheesebuns—that was about it), favorite color (green), and what I did for a living (wife and mother). She asked me about the births of Lila and Owen and if we were planning on having more children. Both Peeta and I blushed at the question.

She did not ask anything about our life prior to the one we had before this moment.

It didn't stop Peeta and me from sitting my parents down after dinner and telling them about our kidnapping. Like we had planned, neither of us mentioned anything about Cray's death—only that we had left after he passed on.

There was a strange light in my father's eyes when we mentioned our kidnapper's name, but he remained silent as we continued to tell him and my mother about our lives in that attic.

Throughout the evening Prim was quiet, even taciturn. I don't know my sister all that well, but I know her enough to know being silent wasn't her. Her eyes focused on her meal as she moved her food around her plate. Owen met my eyes just enough for me to know that Prim was just trying to keep her anger in check. Later on, he told me before that she and our father had words before they came to the house.

At this point, I have no idea whether this whole family reunion is a good or bad thing.

"But at the core of it all, there's love," Peeta replies, his hand moving along my abdomen. "From what Owen tells me, there's nothing but jealousy and pettiness in my family. Part of me even remembers a little bit of that feeling. I think even then I was taking care of Owen. He _was_ treated differently."

"Then thank goodness, you've come back into his life," I say, my lips going to his hair. "Owen needs you. Do you remember anything else from your dreams?"

"My mother." He lets out a trembling breath. "Grace was what held us together. I could feel her hand on my face—the smell of her gardenia perfume. But, I could also feel her drifting away—like she was sick."

I hold him tighter as we fall silent; there is nothing I can say because I don't know what the next step is. We are still awaiting the DNA test results for Peeta and Owen though I know my husband is in no rush to know. He is happy with the way things are.

So am I.

"Did you feel like she loved you?" I suddenly ask.

His eyes meet mine and Peeta smiles softly. "Yes, I could feel that…in her smile, I could feel it."

"Then that's all you need." He scoots up, pressing his hard chest to mine, and an involuntary moan tumbles from in-between my parted lips. "I can't sleep now. Will you help me out with that?"

The hand that was splayed on my stomach travels down towards my pelvis and under the elastic band of my panties. Fingers caress me, gently teasing my clit until I'm twisting, practically demanding that he is inside me.

We fall back asleep just as our bedroom fills with the light of a new sunrise.

* * *

"He took me to that new place in the city," Prim regales, her blue eyes glowing. We both sit on the couch of our living room. "It's called The Hob and it was so romantic! We sat on the roof and after dinner, we just talked for hours."

"That sounds lovely," I say to her with a smile. "And, after?"

"We kissed." She looks down at her hands and when she meets my eyes once more, my sister is blushing brightly. "I wanted more but he didn't ask—and I didn't want to just throw myself at him."

I laugh before checking in on Owen, who lets out a small whine from where he rests next to me.

"Just protect yourself, because you know what happens if you don't."

"What?" Prim asks.

I pick up my son and place him in her arms. "This."

Prim sits Owen up, letting him balance his tiny feet on her lap, as she coos at him.

"Who couldn't love that face?"

My son lets out a happy, gurgling laugh and I feel my heart warm seeing them together. Prim doesn't hesitate to pull my son close, kissing his cheeks, telling him how beautiful he is, and how much she loves him.

Perhaps she wouldn't be such a bad mother if it happened unexpectedly.

There's a knock on the front door and I look to Prim before standing up.

Peeta and Owen are with Lila, who is watching them prepare her pillow fort in our study. It is starting to get too cold for her to play outside so we decided to make her a playground inside the house. Owen came up with the idea of cushioning the large room next to the backyard for our sprightly daughter.

Going to the door, I'm surprised to find my father standing on the porch awkwardly.

"Dad?" I widen the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Katniss." He looks like he hasn't slept since the weekend of our reunion. "May I come in?"

"Of course!" Dad walks in and I give him a shy smile. "You okay?"

"I need to talk to you and Peeta," he replies. "Is he here?"

"Yes." Together, we head into the living room and Prim stands up as we walk in. Her eyes narrow at our father, her hold on Owen slightly tightening. She and Dad stare at one another for a moment before I clear my throat. "Prim, can you call Peeta from the den? Maybe you can put Owen down for his nap and then give Lila a snack?"

She nods wordlessly before walking past us, not bothering to look at our Dad before she walks down the hallway.

"I don't think she's ever going to forgive me," Dad says softly, regret in his eyes.

I cross my arms. "Can you blame her?" He shakes his head. "You left her alone with a mother who was not even there half the time."

"I tried, Katniss," Dad tells me. "I know I messed up."

"Try harder." There is a rush of steps and Peeta walks into the room with a bright smile. "We'll talk about this later."

"Dad!" Peeta embraces my father. "What brings you over?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about," Dad begins. He gestures to the sofa. "You should probably sit down."

I look to Peeta in worry before we go to the couch and my husband puts a protective arm along my shoulders.

"I couldn't get your story out of my head." Dad runs a hand through his hair. "And, the name of that man…then last night, I remembered why."

I lean forward in anxiety. "What?"

"Cray was a construction worker for one of my projects," he informs me. "However, a lot of the men complained about him cheating on his timecard so my foreman eventually ended up letting him go." My father's eyes meet mine and I can see the tears trickling down his tired face. "The day we let him go, he was in my office…and I remembered. Your school photo was on my desk—he picked it up briefly before my foreman sat him down."

"So it wasn't just a random kidnapping," I conclude in a thick voice. "He picked me."

"I kept on researching and, prior to that job, Cray was a janitor at a District 1 private school," Dad recounts before he looks to Peeta. "Do you remember what school you went to before…?"

My husband shakes his head, his eyes lost. "No, I'm just barely getting my memories back."

"Trinket Academy." We look to the doorway where Owen stands, his expression stiff. "Every Mellark has gone to Trinket Academy."

"He left the same year that you disappeared," Dad tells Peeta.

"So I was chosen, too." Peeta looks to me. We can't seem to understand what it was about us that triggered that sick man to steal us from our families. We are polar opposites in personality and looks—yet, we were chosen to be disciplined and abused. "Oh God…"

Peeta's head drops into his hands and I watch him struggle with what my father is telling us.

Why were we chosen?

Cray says we weren't good enough.

Maybe we were too good. He needed to punish us for all _his_ mistakes.

"Why didn't you remember sooner?"

I look up to see Prim stepping into the living room, her blue eyes stony as she approaches my father.

He raises his hands, palms up in surrender. "Prim—"

"No!" She points her finger at him. "How could you not recognize that man on the surveillance footage? You and Momma watch that video all the time! Then, you had the nerve to accuse our mother of not keeping an eye on both of us? The man was fucking right in front of you! He picked up Katniss' photo—that is enough to be suspicious!"

"I can't tell you anything other than I was only triggered by his name," my father says helplessly. "God, if I could take it back…I would!"

"You can't! It got too hard and you left!" Prim scoffs in disgust and waves her hand at me. "Your golden daughter is back and you get to pick up the pieces of what's left of our family. Did you ever think about how it felt to be in-between you and Momma? Do you know how she shut down? How I didn't eat for three days once?"

"No, because your mother wouldn't let me see you," he tells her. "Don't do this, Prim. I'm trying."

"Now you are, after all is said and done." Prim looks to me, blinking back tears. "I'm glad you're back, Katniss, but I don't know if I can be around…him."

I look between my father, my sister, and my husband currently rocking back and forth on our couch.

The walls begin to close in.

Fortunately, the doorbell rings and I rush away. I can't deal with all of this. I barely breathe as I push past Owen and wrench open the front door.

There is a man, small and squat, with round-rimmed glasses standing on our porch.

He gives me a polite smile. "My name is Claudius Templesmith from the Flickerman Gazette. I'm looking for Peeta Mellark."

I straighten myself at his request. "I'm his wife, Katniss."

The man nods once more, his eyes shining as he looks me over.

"Would you like to comment on the DNA test confirming that your husband is the son of Sawyer Mellark Sr., CEO of Mellark Bakery?"

The air is suddenly sucked out of my lungs as I fall back.

There's a flash of light.

And, then I'm out.

* * *

"How…how did they find out before we even did?"

"God, I'm so sorry, Peeta." Owen's apology is heavy with guilt. "Maybe one of the people from the clinic? Actually, it's totally possible. Mellark is a known name and this kind of news will bring a good amount of money to this town."

Peeta grunts—he only does it when he's upset or deep in thought.

"I guess," Peeta begins after a moment. "Then this means that I'm your brother." A light sigh escapes his mouth. "Not like I'm not happy about it. I've always thought of you as family."

"I know," Owen replies. "I won't lie and say that I hoped for this, especially with the relationship I have with Sawyer and Rye." There's a ring from a phone. "Shit…it's Sawyer."

I hear Owen's hurried footsteps as he heads out of the room.

"You can open your eyes now, Katniss," my husband tells me.

Slowly, I let my gaze lift to Peeta, who sits next to my prone form on our couch. "How did you know?"

"We slept next to one another most of our lives." He gives me a gentle smile. "I think over that period of time I would've noticed your sleeping and breathing patterns." Leaning down, he presses a kiss to my mouth. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Your father and Owen chased that reporter off, though he probably got one hell of a picture of you."

"Where are the kids?" I scramble up in panic. "They didn't see me like this, did they?"

"Prim is with them," Peeta assures me. "All of them are napping in the pillow-covered den. Your Dad left and is going to speak with your mother about what happened."

I feel the tears rising. "Oh God…people know about you…they'll know about _us_."

"No." Peeta's blue eyes are firm. "I won't let anything happen to us." He takes my hand, gripping it tightly. "We are a family and I won't let us fall apart."

I can't help but smile seeing that fire in his eyes. We've grown up together and it still amazes me that the man sitting by my side was the same skinny little boy that I first met in that attic.

"Of course." My hand reaches to his face. "We protect each other."

He nods in agreement.

There's a light knock and we look up to see Owen at the doorway.

"My…our family is inviting you to the house for dinner this weekend," Owen tells us. "Our father wants to meet you."

* * *

"Mommy, I don't want to go in there," Lila protests. She looks up at the tall house in front of us. "It looks scary."

She's not the only one who feels that way.

Peeta and I look up at the house—the grand Victorian mansion—eerily reminding us of our childhood prison. I feel like I'm that little girl in the dirtied pink dress again.

Gathering myself, I kneel before my daughter to straighten the collar of her navy sailor-style dress. Beside me, Peeta holds a bundled Owen, his eyes still on the house.

"I know the house is not exactly like our house, but your Grandpa lives here with your Uncles and Aunts," I tell her cheerfully. "Don't you want to show them your new dress and tell them how you'll be performing in the Christmas program at school?"

"I guess." Standing up, Lila takes my hand then goes to Peeta. "Don't worry, Daddy. We're together!"

Peeta looks down at Lila, a smile rising as he looks to her. "Of course, darling." He winks at me before we continue our walk up the gravel path leading up to the large house.

The Mellark Mansion is a thirty-minute drive from our house and hidden behind a large gate. According to Owen, Peeta's father, Sawyer Sr. lives with Sawyer and his wife Delly in the main house. Rye and his girlfriend, Johanna, are relegated to the guest house towards the back of the house.

Owen is the only one who doesn't live with the family as he has to be in the city to make sure that all the chains are in running order.

Tentatively, we all step onto the porch and I meet Peeta's eyes before letting Lila ring the doorbell.

An older man in tails answers and looks us over as he widens the door. "Come in, please."

Lila skips in curiously, her blue eyes wide as she looks the man over. I look around at the wide entryway, the marble floors and round staircase. There are large, baroque paintings on the paneled walls and above us is a crystal chandelier, lit for our entrance.

Our daughter tilts her head at the man. "Are you my grandpa?"

There's a rough laugh, followed by the deep response. "No, I'm afraid not."

Sawyer Mellark Sr. does not look like a grandfather.

He is tall, his golden hair lightened to an almost-white color. His eyes are a dark blue, crinkled at the corners, and as he descends down the stairs, I admire the elegant gait that Owen has obviously inherited. I've always joked with our son's godfather about his gracefulness, telling him that he should've been a dancer.

He walks towards us in a well-fitted suit and a smile. However, there is a lack of warmth; I don't know if it's nerves or just a natural stiffness.

Stopping, Sawyer Sr. looks to Peeta. "Peeta, you've grown into a fine-looking man."

To my surprise, he holds out his hand.

No embrace for his long-lost son who was taken right off the street. Owen was not exaggerating about the lack of warmth in their family. Even I got a hug from my parents, estranged as they were from one another.

I can tell Peeta is surprised—probably a little hurt—but he shakes his father's hand.

"Thank you." He turns to me and I walk forward with the best smile that I can muster. "This is my wife Katniss, and our daughter Lila."

Sawyer Sr. leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Even his lips are cold. "Nice to meet you, Katniss." Then, he kneels before Lila and gives her an actual smile. "You look very much like your grandmother." His eyes go to me, his stare calculating. "Except for the coloring."

I almost turn to leave, right then and there.

"Owen actually has the light coloring," Peeta supplies.

His father stands to look at our sleeping son, his finger drawing to our son's dimpled chin.

"Your brother will be very unhappy that not only does he not have the first born Mellark, but he also does not have the first male heir," Sawyer Sr. muses, almost to himself.

"Well, Sawyer needs to get that big stick out of his butt!" We turn to see a dark-haired woman with sharp brown eyes heading towards us with a blond-haired man trailing next to her. She stops in front of us, her sharp bob stopping just seconds after she does. "Finally, _normal_ Mellarks!"

She extends her hand to Peeta, giving him a wink—much to my annoyance. "Johanna Mason."

I elbow Peeta to pull him from his shock and he starts, "Peeta Mellark." Then he puts an arm around my shoulders. "My wife, Katniss."

I hold out my hand. "Nice to me—"

Johanna embraces me, drawing the breath from my body.

"Don't worry, I promise that Rye and me are not freak shows like the rest of this house," she says into my ear with a light chuckle.

Pulling away, I give her an awkward smile. "Thanks for letting me know."

I look to Rye, who is walking towards Peeta. They look the most alike and I can see Rye giving Peeta a friendly smile. My brother-in-law seems very unassuming; quiet and complacent in his nature. However, he doesn't seem as cold as my father-in-law.

"Wow…I remember when you were a kid," Rye tells my husband. "I taught you how to spell your name."

Peeta grins. "You did?"

"Yes. You always wrote your 'E' backwards which Mom and I thought was funny." Rye smiles sadly at the thought of Grace. "But, you got it down quickly. You learned to write my name after, which was much easier."

They chuckle easily and I look to Johanna, who is watching the scene, her brown eyes warm as she looks to her boyfriend. Our eyes meet and she walks over to me. Lila is clinging to my leg as Sawyer Sr. watches his sons in quiet contemplation.

"I know I came off as a little weird," Johanna begins. "I like to speak my mind and Rye likes to listen. We met in college and he was my math tutor. I spent a majority of the time complaining about how algebra was absolutely useless in real life."

I laugh at her words. "And, then what?"

"I got a C and demanded that he take me to dinner," she continues, winking at Lila, who giggles and then meets my eyes. "Rye can be forward when he wants to be. He kissed me first." Johanna leans into me. "It's not an accident that we're staying in the guest house."

I can understand; this house has no warmth, no life.

It makes me sad to think what may have happened if Grace was still alive and Peeta was never kidnapped.

The front door opens and Owen enters quickly. He gives me and Johanna a kiss on the cheek before picking up Lila. I catch the tension in his gaze before he greets his father then walks over to Rye and Peeta.

"It looks like Sawyer is waiting to make his grand entrance," Johanna says under her breath. Her eyes suddenly go to the top of the stairs. "Oh damn…never mind."

My eyes go to the man and woman descending the steps. Sawyer is definitely the younger version of their father—tall, cool, and cocky. He's still in his business suit, impeccably dressed as if he's going to a business meeting and not a family dinner.

His wife, however, is a bit of a surprise—not what I expected for someone as grandiose as Sawyer. She is round-faced with blue-green eyes and thin blonde hair that is pulled back to reveal large diamond earrings. Her arm is entwined with her husband's and her other hand rests on the swell under her rose-colored dress.

"It looks like our Guests of Honor are here," Sawyer says with a thin smile as he gets to the landing. He goes to Peeta, looking him over before offering his hand just like his father did. "You look good, Peeta. It was a miracle to find out that you were right under our noses this whole time." He looks to Owen. "Good job on hiring."

I hear Owen mutter a curse under his breath. Next to me, Johanna laughs to herself.

"It's nice to see you again," Peeta manages to reply congenially. He holds out his hand and I walk over to take it. "This is my wife Katniss and the little girl clinging to her side is our daughter Lila." My husband nods to our still-sleeping son still in his arms. "And, this is Owen."

"Owen?" Sawyer's wife looks to our son, her eyes brightening. She then looks to big Owen and smiles. "Is he named after you?"

"Yeah, Delly," Owen tells her. "He's my Godson."

"This is my wife, Delly," Sawyer tells us, his eyes on his wife who blushes and steps back. "She's a bit baby crazy as we're expecting our own little one in the upcoming year."

"It's nice to meet you," Peeta says before giving her a smile. He looks over at me, his gaze warm. "Katniss knows all about being a Mommy so if you have any questions—"

"Mommy is the best Mommy!" Lila shouts, desperate to be part of the grown-up conversation.

"I'm sure she is," Delly says and gives me a friendly smile. She seems eager to have friends. I can't blame her; her husband is as stiff as a board. "Would you like to sit next to me at dinner and tell me about what you and your Mommy do?"

"If it's okay with Mommy and Daddy," Lila replies, suddenly shy. She turns to me and Peeta. "May I sit with Aunt Delly?"

I nod, smiling at Delly. "Tell her all about your big sister duties."

Sawyer coughs in discomfort. "Should we head to the dining room?"

Everyone agrees and both father and son lead the way. Delly follows as Lila tells her about our house and her new pillow playground. Rye and Johanna follow but not before Johanna gives us a silent scream.

Owen looks to us and gives us a sheepish smile. "So that is our family."

Peeta snorts before squeezing my hand. "Lord help us all."

* * *

Dinner is strained.

The food is delicious; prime rib and the biggest baked potatoes I've ever seen, but the conversation is lacking.

Before we are served, Lila is given the option to have chicken nuggets or mac and cheese to which she asks for both. It is the one light moment in-between the awkwardness.

The dining room, like the rest of the house, was opulent—all Cherrywood and fine china. I look to Peeta as he glances to where our daughter is eating off a plate that is probably worth more than our house.

"She has a healthy appetite," Sawyer Sr. remarks from the head of the table. He peers at Peeta and me, his expression unreadable. "And, your son?"

" _Owen_ ," I correct him. "…is a very healthy eater." Looking to Johanna—who hijacked my son from Delly earlier—I make sure that he is comfortably asleep. "He's not bothering you, is he?"

"No, he's a doll," Johanna responds. "Makes me want to get off birth control and have one of my own."

"Rye would not approve of that," Sawyer tells her before taking a sip of wine from his glass.

"What Rye and I do in our bedroom is none of your business," she retorts.

"What you do and how it effects this family _is_ my business," Sawyer declares smoothly.

"Everyone…little ears," Owen calls out from his seat next to a silent Rye. His eyes go to Lila. "Don't eat too fast, hon."

"Yes, Uncle Owen," Lila replies with her mouth still full of macaroni.

"Don't worry, Peeta," Sawyer says as he watches our daughter. "She's still young enough to get all those bad habits fixed."

My hand goes to Peeta's thigh just as I see the grip on his fork tighten.

Delly has the modicum to look ashamed at her husband's words. She takes a deep breath before looking to us and giving us a strained smile.

The rest of the dinner is filled with silence and the slurps of Lila's nosy eating.

There is no dessert but when we get to the sitting room, a sundae is on the coffee table for our daughter. I look to Delly, who smiles and shrugs before sitting by the coffee table in a plush chair; I can tell that my daughter has a fan.

It looks like everyone has a designated place. Sawyer Sr. retreats to the large armchair close to the fireplace which houses a healthy blaze. Rye and Johanna go to the loveseat. This time, Rye is holding Owen and looks very focused on the baby in his arms. Johanna rests her head on his shoulder and he turns to give her a kiss on her forehead.

Owen retreats to the piano seat next to the Steinway, testing the keys lightly and lost in thought.

Peeta and I stand awkwardly aside when Sawyer approaches us. "May I have a word with both of you?"

We look to one another before Peeta nods, his fingers weaving through mine. "Of course."

Walking out of the sitting room, we head down the hallway and make a turn into an open door. It is the library and I hold in my gasp at the number of volumes in the room. Peeta and I became avid readers once we left the attic, tired of watching television in our formative years.

Sawyer goes to the desk on the far end and we follow. Sitting down at the desk chair, he pulls out a booklet and then looks to us.

"How much?" he asks abruptly.

Peeta tilts his head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"It's not a big secret that you're now a major shareholder in the company," Sawyer explains. "However, I feel that it's not fair that you get a share of the profit as you have been the least…involved with the company. The rest of us have put in work."

He folds his hands on the desk and looks to us.

"The press is getting involved now and we've had inquiries on your kidnapping story—enough to ruin the business if you talk. The Mellark Bakery name will be tainted by this. So why don't we get this over with and I give you a substantial amount plus enough for Lila and Owen's college funds instead? Though any other offspring will be your own responsibility—"

"Wait." Peeta puts his hand up. "You think I'm here for money?"

Sawyer sits back and stares at us. "Why else would you be here?"

I can feel the bile rising from my stomach at his callousness. I want to scream that the only reason that Peeta wasn't around was because we were in an attic being violated. No amount of money will ever compensate that.

"For family," Peeta says simply, his voice small. "I came here so my children would know where they came from."

"Now that they know they are _real_ Mellarks, they will expect the best," the man in front of us states. "The money I'm giving you will supply that. Name an amount." Sawyer looks to me expectantly. "Either of you."

I look at my crestfallen husband and his betrayed eyes meet mine.

We don't need words to make a decision. A single nod is enough.

Peeta looks to his brother. "Nothing. We want nothing."

With that, we turn and walk out of the room together, our hands gripped tightly together. We have been through a hell of a lot together, but this is far and beyond anything that I can imagine. I feel sick just realizing how hurt Peeta must feel. He didn't get his hopes high, but he didn't expect this either.

Entering the sitting room, I head over to Rye and Johanna to take Owen from them just as Peeta lifts Lila from the floor, the spoon still in her hands.

She cries out, "Daddy, I wasn't finished!"

Owen stands up. "What the hell is going on?"

"We're leaving, that's what going on," Peeta tells him tonelessly.

Sawyer Sr. rises from his chair and, from the look in his eyes, I can already tell that he knows what has transpired. Delly looks stricken as does Rye, but both remain in their seats.

Johanna, however, goes to me. "What happened?"

"We didn't come here for that," I say before I follow my husband to the entryway.

I don't think we've ever run so quickly.

Actually, I remember that we had once—after we killed Cray.

That shadow will always follow us.

* * *

In the car, Peeta is silent—so unlike my radio-crooner husband—and it effects all of us. In the backseat, Lila suddenly goes quiet despite her previous whines and, even if I know it's illegal, I keep Owen in my arms on the passenger's side. I'm afraid that if I let him out of my grasp, the uncontrollable shaking inside me will start.

Halfway through the drive home, Peeta suddenly pulls over the side of the road.

Turning off the engine, my husband folds his arms against the steering wheel and breaks down in tears.

I swallow my own, scooting closer to him, before putting a hand to his shoulder.

"Oh, Peeta…I'm so sorry."

My sweet, optimistic husband who wanted nothing more than to have a family who was looking for him was horribly deceived. His blood relatives, with the exception of Owen, are everything that we hoped they weren't.

Peeta doesn't respond, the heaviness of his sobs overwhelming his body.

"Daddy, it's okay." Her small voice pierces through the darkness. "We should never go back to that place." Lila unbuckles herself from her car seat and crawls to the front. "I don't want to go back to any place that makes my Daddy cry." Our daughter looks to me, worry etched all over her face. "Right, Mommy?"

"No, baby. We won't ever go to that place again," I assure her. "That's not the kind of family we want."

Lila shakes her head passionately in agreement. "No…no…no—Uncle Owen is okay…well also Aunt Delly…and Aunt Johanna and Uncle Rye—but nobody else!"

Peeta chuckles wetly, his gaze going to her before meeting mine. "Thanks for the support." Lila throws her arms around his neck, burrowing herself in his shoulder. "I love you…" He stares at me. "I love you so much."

I lean forward to give him a kiss. "We love you, too."

We both look out at the view before us.

Once again, here we are putting our trust in the wrong people and getting hurt.

In the end, we can only take care of each other.

* * *

" _Mrs. Mellark, would you like to comment on the recent discovery of your husband's identity?"_

" _Do you know where he's been all these years?"_

I push through the half-dozen reporters at our driveway, grocery bag in my hand as I head up to the house. Prim opens the door to let me in and then frowns at the crowd before taking the bag from me.

"They've been here since you left," she reports. "Mom made soup for you."

I give her a tired smile. "Thanks."

Both Peeta and I have been in a state of numbness since last weekend. My husband went to work, but came home after the questions became too much for him and hasn't been back since—and at Owen's insistence, he's taken a personal leave. He and Peeta had a real heart-to-heart that ended with my husband revealing what had happened with Sawyer. Owen was, of course, infuriated at what their brother had done.

The Mellarks are their family, but they're not quite the family to be proud of.

Delly sent out an apology letter along with her cell phone number. Johanna and Rye actually came over to check on us, though I have a feeling it wasn't with Sawyer's knowledge. When he's not around Sawyer, Rye is actually a kind, intelligent conversationalist. His quiet nature complements Johanna's brash, loud one and it is obvious that they love one another.

"Owen is with little Owen in the living room," Prim tells me. "Mom…and Dad are in the kitchen." She is trying to find peace with our father, especially with everything that me and Peeta are dealing with. We have enough family discord. "Peeta is in the den."

I raise a brow. "Doing what?"

"Just staring at the ceiling, I think." Prim embraces me. "This whole thing with his family blows."

I hug her back. "I know. We have our side of the family and Owen as well as the other normal folks on his side."

Prim heads in the direction of the kitchen while I head in the opposite direction towards the den.

Entering, I see Peeta laid out on the abundance of couch pillows on the floor.

When he hears me, my husband gives me a weary smile. "Hey gorgeous. Want to join me?"

I smile before dropping my bag and crawling towards him over the floor of pillows. When I am next to him, I gently lay back and turn to him. I can see the dark circles under his eyes and my hand reaches to his hair. His eyes close at my caress and Peeta lets out a content sigh.

"It's just us again," I whisper. "Alone in a room."

"I thought that when we left that attic, things would get simpler," he tells me. "I don't think we were prepared for any of this."

"Peeta, no one can prepare for life," I say. "We just have to let it happen and work with what we've got." I move closer, my arm weaving around his waist. "I think we're fortunate because we have each other. Imagine having to do this alone." Kissing him gently, I lay my head on his chest. "I know I'd be lost."

"No, you'd find your way," Peeta assures me. "It's me. I would be thoroughly screwed without you."

"Well, you're stuck with me," I tell him and he chuckles.

"Gladly." He pulls me close, his lips humming against my neck. "I don't think God could've made any two people more in love than we are."

"He had a hell of a way of bringing us together," I retort before laying back. "I'm exhausted."

"You getting sick on me?" Peeta asks with a grin. "Maybe I should just take you to bed."

"I don't think we'd get much sleep—"

"Mommy! Daddy!"

We turn to find Lila rushing over to us in tears. She jumps into my arms, clinging to me with her face buried against my stomach.

"Honey, what's wrong?" I ask.

Beside me, Peeta is removing her shoes and taking her backpack off of her.

"The kids at school keep asking me if Daddy was really kiddy-napped." She looks up at me, tears in her round blue eyes. "They wouldn't stop bothering me on the bus and Miss Bus Driver had to stop the bus so the kids would quit asking!" She breaks into another sob. "They told me that I'm a kiddy-napped baby! What does that mean?"

I look to Peeta, his own eyes hardening at her story. When he meets my eyes, his gaze softens and his hand reaches to rub our daughter's back.

"Kidnapped is when you are taken from your family," Peeta tells her.

Slowly, Lila sits up and looks to him as she pushes onto my lap. "Who took you?"

"A bad man took us," I reveal carefully. "I was too young to understand that he wasn't a good man when he took me and so was your Daddy."

"How did you get away from the bad man?" she asks curiously.

"He…got old and died." Pulling her close, I give her a kiss on the top of her head. "This is why Daddy and I are always cautious of you whenever we go out. Sometimes, there are bad people who do bad things and we want to protect you from them. However, we know that you'll have to learn how to see the difference between good and bad. That will happen in time."

"But for now, sweetheart—we're here to take care of you," Peeta says tenderly. "We'll protect you from the monsters."

"I know." She crawls over to him to hug him. "Because I have the bravest Mommy and Daddy."

I smile through my tears.

I so want us to be the parents she thinks we are!

* * *

That night, I can't sleep.

I sit up, my gaze going to Peeta who is passed out. We put Lila to bed early before succumbing to our own exhaustion. However, a dream of Peeta and me in our attic broke me out of a peaceful slumber.

Getting out of bed, I walk out of the bedroom, doing a quick check of Lila and Owen before I look down the hall towards the lone door at the end of the hall.

I rarely go up there after 'the incident'.

I don't go upstairs where the two lonely beds sit separated by a single lamp table. I could never answer Peeta as to why they were there or how I even got them. That bit of memory is blank.

It was what caused Peeta and my first fight.

After that, I wrote it all down and I left it up here.

In that single lamp table is a single drawer with a single notebook.

Our story—those nine years—are held in this leather-bound case, full of our broken words and stolen innocence.

Without even thinking, I take it with me before running down the stairs and closing the door behind me.

One day, I won't feel Cray's ghost behind me.

* * *

"Katniss, what are you doing here?"

Sawyer Sr. stands at the front door only minutes after I asked the staff member who answered the door to get him.

"I need to ask you something," I reply as he opens the door further for me. "Also, I need you to not mention any of this to Sawyer—he's a bit of a sore spot for me and for Peeta."

He nods after a moment. "Of course."

Sawyer Sr. leads me to the sitting room and he goes to the chair by the fireplace, gesturing at the seat across from him. In the lateness of the night, I see how much older he is, how tired he looks, and finally how sad he actually seems.

He gives me a wry smile. "What can I do for you, Katniss?"

I hold out the notebook to him. "I want you to read this."

Taking it, Sawyer Sr. flips through the pages of my garbled writing and Peeta's drawings, his gaze stopping on the two-page sketch of our attic. His eyes trace over the beautiful rendering that my husband created before looking up at me.

"This is where you were?" he says slowly.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Nine years for me, ten for Peeta. He spent a year without me and when I got there, he did everything he could to protect me." I give my father-in-law a smile. "You should be proud of your son. He survived that horrible time and he can still wake up with hope in his eyes."

His eyes look go to the pages. "And, when I'm finished with this?"

I stand up. "You know where to find us."

"He was always a talented artist," Sawyer Sr. says as he looks through the pages. "Every day I would bring him to the bakery and we spend hours just making sugar cookies. He always wanted to use every color, but his favorite color was—"

"Orange," I finish for him. "Like the sunset. It still is." I tighten the belt of my coat. "Thank you for seeing me, Sawyer."

He looks up at me, his gaze down. "Won't you call me Dad?"

"I will when Peeta does."

* * *

I know I haven't solved all of our problems, but I've made progress in the right direction.

Peeta and I don't have perfect families, but they're ours and ours alone. It's more than we asked for when we both laid across from one another in that tiny attic home of ours.

My stomach rumbles and I take a breath before continuing my drive. I'm almost home and I know that Peeta is probably awake, getting up to check on Owen, and reading that note that I've left him on his pillow.

The sun is beginning to rise and I feel the stirring inside me—that hopeful feeling of a new day and a new realization.

We're going to be okay.

* * *

 _Two Weeks Later…_

"Owen, this was a little ambitious, don't you think?" Peeta looks at the school program with a furrowed brow. "She's barely in grade school!"

"Bro, I was a music major. You have to realize that, one—I know what I'm doing and, two—you don't," Owen responds from where he sits in-between Peeta and Prim. "Lila is more than capable."

"Now you're both making me nervous!" I tell them, glancing up on the stage where one of the classes sings 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'. I grin at Peeta. "Thank goodness that she has your confidence. You'd never see me up there!"

"I wouldn't say that, sweetie," my mother says. She sits next to me, holding Owen who is now a lot more aware and sitting up with a toothless smile on his face. "You performed a solo during your Kindergarten class."

"Yes. It was 'Feliz Navidad'," my father adds from his seat next to my mom. "Everyone thought that we had picked it to show off that our daughter knew a different language—but you chose the song yourself!"

"I've never seen this tape," Prim calls out from her seat.

"I'll bring it this Sunday to Peeta and Katniss' and we can watch it after dinner," he tells her with a bright smile.

They aren't where they should be, but my father and Prim are slowly getting to a better place.

There's a tap on my shoulder and I find Sawyer Sr. standing behind me, a careful smile on his lips.

"Is this row taken?"

Peeta turns and looks to him in shock. "What are you doing here?"

"Katniss sent us an invitation," he tells his flabbergasted son. Sawyer Sr. reaches into his jacket and gives me back my notebook. "You're a very good writer. When the time is right, you should think about publishing this memoir."

Then Sawyer Sr. looks to Peeta, affection in his eyes.

"You were a good boy who grew into a good man," he says to his son. "I'm proud of you."

Peeta's eyes shine with tears and he swallows slowly.

"Thanks…Dad." My husband turns to me. "Was this all your doing?"

"We take care of each other," I tell him plainly.

There's a whistle and I see Johanna waving at us with Rye following along with a shy smile as they scoot into the row. Delly and Sawyer are after them though I can see reluctance in the eldest Mellark son's gait.

We can't win them all.

The curtain closes and I look to my husband in excitement. "Lila's next!"

Peeta gives me a kiss before looking around at our family.

"Okay everyone, be quiet! Our girl is coming up!"

My father prepares his camcorder while Prim pulls out a digital camera. I hear Johanna ask Rye where his phone is so she can record and even Delly rummages through her purse to grab her own phone.

I turn to Sawyer Sr. and give him a smile. "Do you want my Dad to make you a copy of Lila's solo?"

He smirks at me and for the first time, I see Peeta in his expression.

"No." Sawyer Sr. points to the back where a camera crew stands. He signals and they immediately get to work. One of them even rushes to the front with a boom mic. "I'll have my own copy."

"You don't do small gestures, do you Dad?" I respond and he chuckles.

"No—wait until you get your Christmas present," he tells me.

I turn just as Peeta takes my hand, raising it to his lips. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For giving me a family," he replies just as the auditorium lights begin to dim.

Taking his hand, I place it on my still-flat abdomen before meeting his eyes.

"Would you mind some more?"

I don't need words.

Peeta's shining eyes answer for him.

" _Oh Holy Night…"_

Lila's clear, soulful voice rings through the room, captivating everyone.

Together, we watch our daughter finish her song.

 **FIN.**

It's a little open-ended. I know.

But, if you're interested, I'd like to finish the "Good Enough" series with one last story. It will take place roughly 11-12 years after this one and will be from a sixteen-year-old Lila's POV.

It will answer some questions such as—what happens to the Mellarks and Everdeens? Do Prim and Owen really get together? Does Katniss publish their story? How do they end up dealing with the media? What happens when Lila really learns the whole story about her mother and father?

Let me know if you're interested.

Thank you if you've read this story. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading!

With Love, JLaLa


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